Inexperienced and Ruinous
by IamtheHamiltrash
Summary: I have never - not once - seen a Leebury fanfic! So, here is one for you (possible one-shot, I might not add more rip). Basically starts at Farmer Refuted. Lee and Seabury are so different- if Lee is the moon, Seabury is the sun. Despite their obvious differences, can they pull through with a happily-ever-after for all? (Idk this has no plot) *dabs* Please leave a review!
1. No, you're grosser!

Charles Lee slunk down the cobblestone streets, keeping close to the alleyways, a pocketknife rubbing against his leg uncomfortably in his front pocket. He desired to do nothing more than stir up trouble.  
A pack of redcoats marched up towards Charles, eyes shrewd yet lifeless. Charles smirked, it was sweltering outside, and the British troops looked quite bothered and hot under their heavy uniforms.  
But he drew back into an alleyway to let them pass. He didn't wish to tangle with the well-trained men, polished and lethal muskets hanging by their sides.  
Charles flipped some of his horribly dark and thick hair from his eyes. He ran his hand over the shaven side of his head, wishing for the sun to disappear behind a cloud and spare them from its heat.  
Once the redcoats had passed, he slipped back into the streets and continued making his way downtown.  
As he approached the town square, Charles noticed a large and somewhat angry crowd flocked around the town stage.  
Charles felt his stomach clench up in excitement. Perhaps he could stir up trouble here. His morning had been boring and he needed something to do.  
Charles pushed his way rudely through the crowd until he was up in the front of the stage. He took one glance at the speaker and for once, felt absolutely speechless.  
The boy wasn't much older than he, but he was perhaps a few inches taller. He was willowy with snow-pale skin and wind-swept hair, thick and shiny, the color of rich caramel. His thick-lashed eyes were wide and almond-shaped, with cocoa-colored irises.  
"Hear ye, Hear ye!" He announced, his voice snippy and shrill, yet tainted with an exquisite British accent. "My name is Samuel Seabury, and I provide free thoughts on the Continental Congress!"  
Suddenly, those deliciously brown eyes flickered down and latched onto Charles's own muddy brown-gray eyes.  
Samuel Seabury seemed to choke and he went bright red. Charles huffed out a breath in surprise and turned away, cursing himself when he felt a blush creep along his cheeks.

Samuel blanched as he noticed a good-looking boy in one of the front rows. He had a thatch of sleek hair, the color of black earth. His head was shaven on one side, and he had multiple piercings in his ears and bottom lip. He was sun-kissed with strange eyes, not quite gray, not quite brown.  
He radiated arrogance and confidence, but he quickly looked away and blushed when Samuel caught his eye.  
Samuel gulped and tried to proceed. "H-Heed not the rabble who scream: 'Revolution!' t-they h-have not your interest at heart...!"  
Samuel snuck a glance at the boy, and to his dismay, he was looking at Samuel with a look of disgust on his handsome face.  
"Chaos and bloodshed are not the solution! Don't let them l-lead you astray~! This 'Congress' does not speak for me!" Samuel cried out, ignoring the boy.  
/Oh well.../ Samuel thought to himself. /It's not like you'd ever have a chance with him anyways./  
The mysterious boy was handsome, but in a "bad boy" way, with that dark gray t-shirt and dusty and torn black jeans.  
Samuel was part of an aristocratic family, a gaggle of Loyalists who practically worshipped King George the III.  
Anyways, the boy was probably straight anyways. Samuel was just about as straight as a circle.  
"They're playing a dangerous game!" he warned the crowd. A few people were nodding approval, but the majority either looked impassive or mutinous.  
A young man towards the back stood out to him, his heart-shaped face framed by bunches of curls. Even from a hundred feet away, Samuel thought he could make out the faintest starbursts of freckles on his face.  
The look on his face promised Samuel doom. A trickle of sweat ran down Samuel's neck.  
"P-Pray the King shows you his mercy!" Samuel called, cringing. "For shame! For shame!"  
And then someone cut into Samuel. He had climbed up onto the stage without him knowing.  
"Yo."

Charles glared at the newcomer who had interrupted Samuel's speech. The man had long and dark hair, and he looked short and looked scrappy. He had a small and scruffy beard, but his eyes sparkled intelligently.  
The newcomer launched into a speech, yelling over Samuel and contradicting him left and right.  
"It's hard to listen to you with a straight face!" the smaller man sneered, his scrawny frame perhaps a foot shorter than Samuel's.  
"Chaos and bloodshed are not a solution!" Samuel insisted while the newcomer yelled: "Chaos and bloodshed already haunt us!"  
Charles felt disgusted by Samuel's political views, and how they differed so much from his own.  
Charles was a born and bred Patriot; he was pining for a revolution. He absolutely despised King George the III, and all of his tyrannical acts of injustice.  
But still, Charles felt angry towards the dark-haired man, who was now shouting: "Is he in Jersey?!"  
Samuel was on the floor, scrabbling backwards as the smaller man advanced towards him.  
"Honestly, look at me, please don't read!" Charles's fellow Patriot hissed.  
"N-Not your interests!" Samuel squeaked.  
"Don't modulate the key then not debate with me!" the newcomer spat, flipping Samuel off.  
Charles ground his teeth and clenched his fists. He felt a rush of hatred towards the arrogant bastard, who now had turned back to the crowd.  
"Why should a tiny island across the sea regulate the price of tea?!" he shrieked.  
"Alexander, please," a man begged, his eyes gleaming with worry.  
"Burr, I'd rather be divisive than indecisive, so drop the niceties!" the small, dark-haired man - well, Alexander - snapped back.  
And then, suddenly, a horde of redcoats marched onstage, shoving both Samuel and Alexander off the stage.  
"Silence!" they roared, "A message from the King, a message from the King, a message from the King!"  
Charles sighed in disgust and then headed towards the direction of where he saw Samuel fall into the crowd.  
Samuel was hunched over in the shadow of the wooden stage, his back to the structure. Charles plopped down besides Samuel.  
Samuel gave him one look of uttermost disbelief and surprise, which quickly morphed into fear.  
"Wha- What'd you w-want?" Samuel stuttered, his eyes wide. He looked slightly breathless.  
"I just saw you fall off the stage and I wanted to make sure that you were okay." Charles replied truthfully.  
Samuel blinked at him for a few seconds.  
"What's your name?" Samuel whispered.  
"Charles Lee." Charles said. "And you're Samuel Seabury, I presume?"  
"Yes..." Samuel breathed, looking at Charles in awe.  
Charles held Samuel's gaze and blushed slightly when he saw his own curiosity reflected in Samuel's pretty brown eyes.  
"So," Charles said, "you're a Torrie."  
Samuel looked down. "Yes..."  
"How can you ever support that tyrant?" Charles demanded. "He taxes us unfairly, relentlessly, and without our consent, then turns around and goes on another spending spree!"  
"I'm just trying to save us from unnecessary violence! I don't want any bloodshed!" Samuel snipped back. "I will never understand you Patriots! Do you wish for a war?"  
"If it means setting my people free, then yes, I do!" Charles snapped.  
"But so many of you would die!" Samuel wailed.  
"So what?" Charles said, turning his head away. "But at least the rest of us would be free. Give me liberty or give me death!"  
"But King George's taxes aren't that unrealistic and outrageous! He doesn't tax necessities like food or water! He only taxes luxury items such as tea and paper! Most of you rebels can't even afford what he taxes!"  
"What about the stamps?" Charles spat. "I hate paying extra every time I want to send a letter to my brother!"  
"It's just a few pence, I'm sure you can afford it!" Samuel snipped, turning his back on Charles.  
"Every pence makes a difference!" Charles hissed, crossing his arms.  
"Not that big!" Samuel sniffed.  
Charles gritted his teeth. He loved arguing and stirring up trouble, but this time, just this once, he just wanted Samuel to agree with him.  
"I don't know about you rich folk," Charles said, eyeing Samuel's silk sash, "but down here in the middle-class section, a few pence could buy you a tablespoon of medicine to cure a cough so you wouldn't have to watch your little sister suffer in front of you without doing a thing!" Charles shouted.

Samuel gaped, speechless, at Charles.  
/I've never thought of that.../ Samuel thought to himself. /There's so much that I still don't know./  
Samuel blushed and then turned away. He heard Charles walk away.  
"I'm so sorry..." Samuel whispered, tears dotting his eyelashes.

* * *

Heyyy~ just a quick something. I wasn't going to post this, but then I was like oh, whatever. I haven't seen any Leebury yet, so why not? Anyways, I might make this a multi-chapter fic, but school's starting soon. Idk, should I make more? Rip ans thanks for reading!


	2. Pricks and Dipshits

**Chapter Two**

Samuel picked at his breakfast moodily while his younger brother, David, flapped around the kitchen in hysterics. He had just been paid a visit by no other than his long-time crush, Marquis de Lafayette.

"Sammy, did you see the way his beautiful eyes flashed at me when I mentioned that we were loyalists?" he wailed. "He hates me, I know he does!"

"Relax," Samuel muttered, "I doubt he even remembers your face."

"That's even worse!" David shrieked.

David's pale blue eyes contrasted drastically with Samuel's chocolate ones, and his hair was almost an albino white while Samuel's was a thatch of rich caramel. David and Samuel suspected that they had different fathers, but never confronted their mother about it.

After all, she was dead.

Samuel pushed around his beans a little bit more and then gave up. He had always hated beans on toast. The smell of tomato juice and stewed beans was enough to make him sick. The only reason Samuel put up with it was that it was "traditional for the British folk".

Samuel brushed past David and stepped out of the kitchen.

"Hey, where you going?" David shouted.

"Town," Samuel replied.

"Wait, let me come!" David exclaimed, scrambling to collect himself.

"Ugh, fine!" Samuel fumed. He had wanted to go on his own, and foolishly, hoping to catch a glimpse of that Charles Lee.

Samuel waited for David to catch up, and the two brothers set pace down the paved streets towards New York.

Samuel quickly ducked out of sight. A group of loud and laughing rebels sauntered down the street, rubbing up against each other comfortably in their drunken state. Samuel turned back to David and saw that his brother had gone stark.

"What is it?" Samuel asked, perplexed and a little annoyed. Then Samuel let a huff of realization out of his mouth.

One of the drunken rebels was none other than Marquis de Lafayette.

"You idiot!" Samuel hissed.

"Sam!" David whispered.

"What?"

"I-I want to go and talk to him!"

"Then go, you idiot! Leave me alone!"

"But I'm scared!" David whined, clutching on Samuel's sleeve.

"Merciful heavens!" Samuel exclaimed, clapping his hand onto his forehead. "Just go, good man, and leave me alone!"

A shadow fell over the two quarreling boys.

"Do we have a problem here?" a familiar voice sneered.

Samuel whipped around to see Charles Lee smirking down at him, a baseball bat strapped to his back.

"Um…" Samuel squeaked.

"Bye!" David had taken one look at Charles's fit figure and dashed down the street, slipping into a small shop.

"Man, I just love it when you Loyalist wimps argue amongst yourselves. Very entertaining." Charles drawled.

Samuel frowned back, stung, and rudely pushed past Charles, making his way down the street.

"Hey!" Charles exclaimed, his hand flashing out and fastening it onto Samuel's shoulder.

Samuel cringed and jumped violently, startled, and nearly knocking over a little old lady with a few bags of shopping.

"What?" Samuel snapped, turning around.

"Where are you going?" Charles smirked.

"Why should I tell you?" Samuel replied.

"Because why not?" Charles said, rolling his eyes. "I'm bored, so that means you're stuck with me for the rest of the day."

"Fun." Samuel groaned sarcastically, but inside, something sparked, to his annoyance.

"Fuck you!" Charles spat.

They had gotten into another argument.

"Fuck you and your fucking Loyalist friends!"

"That's not nice," Samuel chided.

"I don't care!"

"With that attitude, you're not going to get far in life."

"I don't want any of your philosophical shit!" Charles snarled, running a hand through his hair.

"Well you're going to have to put up with it for now," Samuel said heavily, tired of fighting the annoying prick of a Patriot.

"Dammit," Charles cussed loudly, causing several women to gaze at him, affronted.

"On that note, I think it's time that I departed," Samuel sniffed, turning away. "Good bye."

Samuel had walked a few blocks before finally realizing that Charles had been following him the whole time.

"Why won't you just piss off?" Samuel sighed.

Charles was silent for a moment. "I don't want to."

"Great," Samuel sighed sarcastically. "Awesome, wow!"

Charles frowned at his shoes as they walked down the street in silence. Samuel saw the old church up ahead and quickened his pace, hoping to get rid of Charles. No luck.

They stopped in front of the church. Samuel's stomach churned, and he swallowed nervously. The previous night, Samuel's father insisted that he visit and pray and do whatever else people in the church did.

To be completely honest, Samuel was absolutely terrified of his father. His father, like so many other of his day, was homophobic. But Samuel Seabury Senior had noticed that his eldest son was lacking interest in women. This had lead to some suspicion.

Samuel realized that he had been trembling at the church front for a good thirty seconds. Charles was looking at him quizzically.

"Uh… Samuel? Are you okay?" Charles asked.

"Oh- yes. Fine. I just uh, need to go into the church to p-pay my father a… a visit…"

"You don't have to."

Samuel turned to Charles. "What?"

"Don't," Charles advised.

"Why not?" Samuel asked, startled, and a little bit confused and relieved.

"You don't want to do it."

"Says who?"

"Says me. You're trembling, Sam. Downright terrified."

"Don't call me 'Sam'," Samuel said.

Charles rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, Sam."

Samuel sucked in a big breath of air and then let it out when he decided it was not worth the fight.

Charles looked over at Samuel with a concerned eye and then took the thinner boy's arm.

"Come on, let's get away from here. You look about ready to collapse."

Samuel let himself be meekly led away from the church, with its whitewashed walls and colorfully stained glass windows, depicting the Lord and his holiness.

Charles led him into a small and quaint coffee shop.

"Sit and stay," Charles said.

Samuel collapsed into a chair and buried his head down on the table. He heard Charles walk away, but then a minute or two later, the black-haired boy returned with two mugs of coffee.

Samuel lifted his head and gratefully accepted the drink, even though he hated coffee almost as much as beans on toast.

"T-thank you." Samuel murmured, and despite his best efforts, failed to hide a faint blush.

Charles said nothing but sipped his drink. The whole time, his eyes were trained out the window, as if he couldn't bring himself to look at Samuel's face.

Charles was done with his coffee even before Samuel had taken the first sip, but said nothing and waited patiently as Samuel took small and scalding sips of the rich brown liquid. Finally, once Samuel had finished, Charles started talking.

"What's up with you and churches?"

"Nothing," Samuel said, and when he caught Charles's disbelieving expression, elaborated.  
"It's my father I'm… well…"

"Why?" Charles said.

Samuel shifted uncomfortably. To tell the truth, to a boy - a stranger - he met just yesterday? Or just make something up…

"He's homophobic," Samuel blurted.

Something flashed in Charles's eyes.

"Well," he replied steadily, "that shouldn't be a problem for you unless you're like gay or bi or something…"

Samuel sucked in his breath. Should he come out to this handsome boy, this complete stranger, this intelligent Charles Lee who read him as easily as a child's picture book, total Patriot, but who despite his rough exterior, obviously had a heart inside of him?

Charles was looking at him the whole time, a mild look in his murky brown eyes.

"I'm gay," Samuel said.

A look of surprise and possibly triumph flashed in Charles's eyes.

Samuel immediately cringed.

"Oh God," Samuel breathed. "I-er… I mean…"

"Cool," Charles said.

"What?" Samuel spluttered, aghast.

"Cool," Charles repeated. "I'm gay as fuck too."

Samuel blinked, something warm and light rising in his chest as he gazed at the handsomely gay boy in front of him.

"Cool," Samuel said. "Cool."

* * *

I have three fucking tests and a quiz next week that I'm procrastinating with this I'm so stressed out I swear to god one day I'll end up bald. My hair's falling out faster than these Hamilmemes are being created I swear I will murder all these dumbass teachers who ASSIGN THREE TESTS ON THE SAME DAY FUCK YOU ITS MIDNIGHT AND IM SLEEP DEPRIVED BUT STILL FUCK YOU I HATE SCHOOL


	3. Whiny Little bro

**Chapter Three**

Samuel trembled as he surveyed the streets, dusk approaching. The sky was an ominous gray, and rumbling could be heard in the distance. Samuel snuck a glance at Charles, who was currently beating a tin can into the ground with his baseball bat.

Samuel walked closer to the window of an antique clock shop and read the time. It was nearly six. He swallowed a lump. If he didn't start heading home now, he would miss curfew.

"I-I have to go," Samuel said, turning back to Chares.

"What? Why?" Charles asked, relenting his pounding of the can.

"I have to go home, it's getting dark."

"What about your father?" Charles said.

"What do you mean?" Samuel said.

"You fucking skipped that church thing you were supposed to do today. Don't you think he might be a little mad?"

"Oh, please," Samuel said, rolling his eyes. "You're acting like he's never been mad at me before. I'll be fine. I can handle him."

"Samuel, I don't think that's a good idea," Charles said, kicking the can with his shoe. It skittered across the dusty ground and ricocheted with a hollow clang against a stone wall of a shop.

"Look, I appreciate your concern, really, but I'm fine." Samuel said, starting to feel exasperated. What was Charles trying to suggest? He didn't have anywhere to go, after all.

Charles looked at him with wide eyes.

"Stay with me for tonight," he blurted.

"What? No!" Samuel spluttered. "I-I can't!"

"Why not?" Charles asked.

"M-my father and my brother will be worried about me. I can't just run off without telling them!" Samuel exclaimed. "Really Charles, how impractical!"

Charles's face flushed an angry shade of red. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me for trying to help your miserable ass!"

"Look, Charles-" Samuel began.

"No, you look, Sam! I'm trying to do you a fucking favor, and all you do is just show me how fucking ungrateful you can be, and how much you fucking hate me! What the fuck?"

"Why is every other word you seem to say a cuss word?"

"FUCKING BECAUSE IT FUCKING CAN, DIPSHIT!"

"Okay, alright!" Samuel exclaimed coldly, turning away.

Charles huffed and Samuel heard the swish of fabric as he too turned away.

Feeling mutinous and angry, Samuel shot one look of hatred over his shoulder before walking swiftly away. It wasn't long before he broke into a run.

The image of Charles standing there, facing the storm clouds burned itself into his brain. Samuel felt tears of frustration well up in his eyes.

 _Why do I always ruin everything?_

"Sammy! I was so worried about you!"

David pulled Samuel into a bone-crushing hug on the threshold of their home. Samuel could see his father standing in the doorframe of the kitchen.

Samuel broke apart and reluctantly headed towards his father.

"Father…" he began, his voice dwindling.

"Son," Samuel Seabury Sr. said, disappointment swimming in his cloudy blue eyes, "I thought I knew you to be better than that. I never expected you to lie to me and skip service today, especially when I asked you personally to come."

"I'm sorry. It won't happen again," Samuel said.

Samuel's father couldn't seem to say anything else, and he just shook his head sadly and sighed. Samuel looked down at the floor. He was expecting an angry father, not a sad and disappointed one.

"I regret skipping," Samuel mumbled truthfully. "Could I perhaps make it up somehow?"

Samuel snuck a look at his father's face. It seemed a fraction happier than before.

"Of course you may. There's another service taking place three days from now. It's a special service, actually. I was debating sending you there today, actually. However, because you want compensation, I will most certainly send you!"

"Oh, what kind of special service is it?" Samuel asked, intrigued.

"It's a very important one, but I'll tell you later. It's getting late, and I want you - both of you - off to bed."

David nodded and grabbed Samuel's hand.

"Goodnight, father," David said.

"See you in the morning!" Samuel echoed.

Samuel noticed that David's hand seemed a little clammy in his own. David pulled Samuel into their shared bedroom and closed and locked the door.

"Samuel, you must listen to me," David hissed.

Samuel look at his brother in surprise. "What is it?"

"You know that 'special church program' thing is actually a… camp."

"A what? What type of ca…" Samuel's voice trailed away as the realization of what his father was doing dawned on him.

"Rehab camp," David said.

"Damn!" Samuel cussed.

David looked at him in surprise, his mouth a perfect "o."

"Samuel!" David scolded. "No cussing!"

"I-I'm sorry," Samuel said, lowering his voice. "It's just that… why would he…?"

"He wants to pray the gay away. He can't stand that his only children are… well, gay. He wants us to marry fussy rich and prissy ladies," David said.

"But you can't just force yourself to become straight! That doesn't work that way!" Samuel exclaimed.

David looked away. "Believe me, I know. He's sending me too. I overheard him talking to Mister James Reynolds, the overseer."

"Damn," Samuel breathed again, and this time David did not bother to correct his older brother.

"Damn father," David said. "When we go to Hell, I hope to see him there."

* * *

A/N: Haha, sorry for the shorter chapter! But I actually managed to get something out! Idk I have no uploading schedule, I just upload when I have time. Yo I got through my three tests and a quiz and actually managed to get A's on all three. *gasp* Thank yalls for reading this shit, and don't foget to leave a review! I love it when you guys comment on my stuff! XD


	4. Pray the Gay Away

Samuel, David, and a few other boys were sitting cross-legged on the floor of the old church. There were six in all. They were gathered around a large man with a straw hat on, eyes glinting coldly with malice.

"Hello, boys. My name is James Reynolds and my job is to lead you back to God. Your job is to follow me as I work. You can be fixed, do not worry."

Samuel cringed and rolled his eyes. This man was all business. He spoke as if he believed that you actually can pray the gay away. As if it actually works.

"Okay," Mr. Reynolds began. "Let's all start by introducing ourselves. I've already gone, so let's start with… you!" he pointed at a kid with whitish-blonde hair.

"M-me?" the boy stammered.

"Yes, you." Mr. Reynolds responded with clipped tones.

"Uh," the boy said, "My name is George Frederick and… yeah."

"What are your goals by the end of your... treatment?" Mr. Reynolds asked.

"Um… to still be gay," George said.

Mr. Reynolds rolled his eyes. "R-i-i-ight. You missed the whole fucking point of this camp. Moving on, go in a clockwise circle."

The next kid blinked with sleepy eyes. "Uh," he said softly, "my name is Aaron Burr and my goal is to get out of here in one piece."

"Hello fellow gays, my name is George Eaker and my goal is the same as George Frederick's. I ain't here to become straight. I'm hella gay and I'll stay hella gay. I only came here cause my old man says I gotta or he'll kick me out, and I got nowhere to go."

It was David's turn. "My name is David Seabury," he said nervously, "and my goal is to graduate and return home accepted by my family."

George Frederick stood up, His blonde hair catching the sunlight attractively. "You're really gonna go along with this crap?"

"HOLD uP!" James Reynolds shouted, his face a deep purple. "You boys have been disrespectful enough! This is the last straw. You, George Whatever, go stand in the corner!"

"This room is fucking round, dipshit! There are no fucking corners!" George Frederick shouted.

Samuel felt his stomach flip. This George Frederick was playing a dangerous game. But he was brave, Samuel had to admit to himself. He maybe was even a little…

'StOP, Samuel!' Samuel thought to himself.

Now Mr. Reynolds was really pissed. He strode over and grabbed George by the forearm and threw him into the wall. He forced George onto his knees and loosened his belt. Samuel watched in horror as Mr. Reynolds whipped George over and over, his screams lost in the sound of thwacking. After the tenth last, he let George slump over in a pool of his own blood, sobbing.

Mr. Reynolds turned around with a glint in his eye. "Anyone else?"

None of the boys said a word. The only sound was of George's soft sobbing. Samuel felt so bad for him. He wanted to crawl over to George and hug him, anything to stop his pain.

Mr. Reynolds smiled. "Good. I believe we have not finished our activity." Then he pointed to Samuel. "Your turn," he said, "and be careful."

"Umm," Samuel squeaked, "My name is Samuel Seabury. My goal… my g-goal… is to, uh, f-follow Jesus once m-more…"

He cringed under Mr. Reynolds's gaze. Luckily, their director seemed satisfied with Samuel's answer. He turned back to the boys.

"Okay, now-"

"WASSUP, FUCKERS?"

Samuel watched in utter astonishment as Charles Lee strode into the old building. "Is this the 'Pray the Gay Away' camp shit they were talking 'bout in the bar?"

"Yes," George Eaker smirked. "Welcome to our shitty little camp. Mi casa es tu casa."

"Kewl beans," Charles said. Then he caught sight of Samuel. "HEY SAMMY BOI, WASSUP?"

"Um," Samuel said, blushing.

Mr. Reynolds was standing to the side, his hands over his face. "I've had enough," he growled. "I'm locking you all in this goddamn church!"

"What?" Everyone yelled at once.

Mr. Reynolds sprinted towards the door and pulled it shut, locking it from the outside. George Eaker ran up and kicked the door as hard as he could. "THE FUCK, MAN?"

"And I'll be doing this every night until you fags learn respect for your elders and superiors! Good night!"

"nOOOOOOOO!" David screeched.

"Shut up!" Samuel hissed, punching his brother on the arm. "You'll make everything worse, dipshit!"

"nO cussing, Samuel!" David whimpered.

Samuel rolled his eyes. "My god, you're so babyish. Man up, brother!"

Charles pushed the two brothers away from each other. "Stop fighting, losers!"

"I'm no loser!" Samuel sniffed, crossing his arms.

Charles grinned. "Tough luck, buddy. Turns out you are one."

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"AM NOT!"

"ARE TOO!"

"SHUT UP, BOTH OF YOU!" George Eaker cried, grabbing Samuel's arm and pulling him away from a smirking Charles. "Samuel, fighting with everyone isn't going to solve anything!"

Samuel glared at all the boys and then turned his back to them, marching over to George Frederick, who was crying softly. Aaron was hovering near him, unsure of what to do.

"Aaron, do you know if we can find bandages anywhere here?" Samuel asked softly.

"N-no," Aaron whispered. "But we can use my spare jacket. I brought two."

"Why did you being two jackets?" Samuel said, taking Aaron's spare.

"Thought it might be cold. Anyway, it's useful now."

"True," Samuel said. He turned to George.

George's shirt was ripped open, blood trickling from deep scratches, bruises blooming on his pale back.

Samuel leaned down. "George," he said, "my name is Samuel Seabury and I am going to bandage your wounds the best I can. I am used one of Aaron's jackets because that's the best we have. I'm going to use a little water from my water bottle to wash the blood away. Is that okay?"

George didn't say anything; he only nodded.

Samuel sighed. "Okay."

He got to work.

* * *

 **A/N: Hello school's a bitch so here I am. Like I said before, I literally have no plot and now I'm taking suggestions! (For plot and OC's to join the pray the gay away camp. I'm adding up to three OCs. Just suggest things and I'll see if I can work it in! Have fun you guys! :P**


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